


Doom is Ineffitable

by Magismol143



Series: Ineffable Dumbasses [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Notre Dame fire (mentioned), The Arrangement (Good Omens), Work In Progress, they're both dumbasses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21796315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magismol143/pseuds/Magismol143
Summary: The Arrangement is in full swing, and it's early 2019. An unsuspecting angel and demon dance around each other and their feelings, while Heaven and Hell scratch their heads.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Dumbasses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560034
Kudos: 4





	1. Zuma London

**Author's Note:**

> (sorry for the pun in the title I didn't know what to name it lmao.)  
> Thank you to my partner for writing this with me <3  
> This will likely be LONG. Please reference the Doctor Who + Portal series

It is a quiet evening, which was a relief after the rather eventful day Aziraphale had just had—the bookshop happened to be busier than usual, and on the very day he needed to scrape up a report to send to Heaven about all the good he had been up to. Aziraphale put one of his favorites on the record player and indulgently poured a glass of wine for himself, intending to stay cozied up in the back corner of his shop for the rest of the night, perhaps reading something a bit more dry with the alcohol in his system to make it more interesting.

Crowley has been away for roughly a week and a half, so it comes as something of a surprise when there’s a knock on his door at this hour, and the demon steps back to be seen through the window, holding a plain white box under his arm.

Aziraphale hurriedly closes the book, taking off his reading glasses and setting them on top of the cover, utterly perplexed— _what kind of customer would come to a bookshop this late?_ He wonders as he bustles to the door. Through the window he recognizes Crowley, his expression in a bit of a tizzy between pleased and nervous as he opens the door and peeks his head out.

“Crowley, what are you doing here?” he berates him in conspiratorial tones—the last thing he wants is to be caught with the demon, especially since upstairs knows this is his current residence.

“Oh come on! I was in Paris stirring up mischief for a bit; I _know_ you like your little pompous snacks~!” Crowley lifts the box a little with a smile.

Aziraphale gapes for a moment in a flustered manner, not sure if he should be offended or not, just stepping aside and waving Crowley in. “Come on, get in then,” he whispers, watching the street.

Crowley saunters right on in once Aziraphale steps aside, setting the box on the first table with any empty space. “I kept them fresh. Crepes, cheeses, little, ostentatious puffs of I-frankly-don’t-know-what... only a little, mind you, but a little of everything.”

Aziraphale closes the door and walks over to peek curiously into the box.

“Well, thank you, Crowley, just... could you call next time? It really is quite late, and I wasn’t expecting you...” he trails off, slowly connecting the dots between what Crowley said. “Um, what exactly did you say you were up to, in Paris...?”

“Whell-...” he starts in that guilty uncertain way he does. “I may have, rigged-some-construction-hardware-to-fall-apart, but how have you been!”

The meager hope in Aziraphale’s expression falls and he drops his shoulders in disappointment. Of course the demon would’ve been involved in the Notre Dame disaster from a few days ago. “ _Crow_ ley! Those were _priceless_ artifacts and artworks that were lost! And, such a beautiful building...” He’s beside himself, turning away as if he can’t bear to meet the demon’s shaded eyes. “I was quite fond of it, you know.”

“I meant to delay the renovations, frustrate some people, not destroy the place! I set the apparatus to fall apart a bit, it was the humans who had something on fire up there!” he attempts to defend himself— it was meant as a sort of prank on the holy, maybe dangerous, but not of this scale.

Aziraphale looks back at Crowley, setting his shoulders with his hands clasped together at his waist. “You shouldn’t be messing around in churches, anyway, you could...” he rethinks his wording, “something could happen.” He nods and picks up the box Crowley brought, taking it to the back of the shop where he has a small fridge he can store it in, he’ll make it last.

“You weren’t complaining at the Blitz, and I _meant_ to destroy that one!”

“I was in trouble there, that’s different!” Aziraphale calls from the back room, glancing at his glass of wine and decidedly picking it up to drink the rest, but he won’t drink any more, this is just so it’s not wasted, he tells himself.

Crowley nods just a little, pausing before changing the subject. “Do any ‘good deeds’ lately?”

Aziraphale clears his throat, giving a nervous smile as he re-emerges from the back room. “Of course, I’m an angel, aren’t I? Good deeds are my specialty…”

Crowley smirks, leaning on a bookcase and asking almost passively, “alright, but like what? I’ve been gone, I’m curious!”

Aziraphale looks to the side thoughtfully, stalling as he finds a nearby chair to settle down in.

“Well...” he sighs, admitting, “I haven’t been very, _inspired_ lately.”

“Hm...” the demon leans his head against a bookcase, “well, it’d be a shame if some truly devilish force of evil actually _inspired_ you; I mean, at that rate, those bad efforts would have only brought good, despite all the initial bad they could boast about bringing initially...”

Aziraphale sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “What are you insinuating this time, Crowley?”

“I’m insinuating that I’d be willing to, put a pause on the whole no-interference agreement and cause a ruckus in this area. More bad must inspire a bit of good, eh? Get your angel mojo back.”

“Well…” he considers it, “as long as, no one is really _hurt_ I suppose it would be alright…”

“That’s what _you’re_ here for, Aziraphale,” he points out, holding a hand out to shake the angel’s.

“Yes of course,” he agrees quickly, glancing at Crowley’s hand uncertainly. “But, um. Could we start this tomorrow, after lunch?” He looks up at Crowley with a polite smile.

Crowley shrugs, answering, “fine by me. Tomorrow after lunch. Have a date or something?” he teases inquisitively.

Aziraphale’s eyes widen. “N-no! I just, I’ve got to manage the bookshop until noon.” He knows he’s thrown his shop hours around many times before for more trivial reasons than this, looking away. “I wouldn’t do something like that with any human, you know that.”

Crowley’s eyebrow pops up on the word “human”, and he pauses before standing off of the bookcase. “Of course I know that, I’m only messing with you a bit.”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, continuing with only a brief slur between his words. “Crowley, I think... could you please leave? Thank you kindly for the, box of stuff, but I need you tgo.” He looks awfully apologetic about asking this.

“Alright, I’ll get out of your space,” Crowley answers, understanding that the angel probably has things to do without a demon pestering him the whole time and he turns to leave.

The angel relaxes and lets out a small sigh, smiling somewhat awkwardly. “Thank you. See you tomorrow, probably?”

“See you then,” he answers as he leaves, heading home for the night— other demons can do a lot of lurking during the time and he doesn’t want their company.

Once Crowley is gone, and he can relax a little, Aziraphale remarks to himself that the demon was quite understanding in his request, which is appreciated. Crowley really is one nice demon, isn’t he? He shakes his head and gets up, returning to the back room to keep reading and putting the interaction out of his mind, which takes him all until the first customer of the next day.

Crowley goes home and tends to his plants before watching the Office. In the morning, he starts planning— he’ll need a good number of decently bad but not horribly evil schemes for the afternoon.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale puts every effort into reminding himself what it is to be an angel between helping customers, praying a little and reading a couple of good ones from the Bible, the ones he really likes about love and kindness, before he decides he’s ready around noon and closes the shop, putting on his coat to head out into the crisp winter-springish air. The blaring of Queen in the distance is the first sign that Crowley is already ready and coming, and he speeds up to the corner where Aziraphale is and stops, rolling down the window and pausing his music.

“Do you want lunch or you want to get to work?”

Aziraphale had been about to cross the street, stopping and quickly stepping back once he hears Crowley coming. “Lunch? Oh, no, not today I’m afraid,” he smiles as he comes up to Crowley’s window. “Perhaps we could grab a bite, after...?”

“Dinner it is~! So: how should we do this? I could just take you on my rounds, but I’m open to something more convoluted,” he asks, gesturing to the seat next to him.

“Oo,” he perks up and bustles around the car to the passenger side, giving an excited grin as he hops in the car and closes the door behind him. “To be honest, I have no plan; you seemed quite, er, prepared last night. I’ll just, go with the flow I suppose!” He wiggles his fingers to accompany the saying, looking self-satisfied.

“You seem in a much better mood than then, at least!” Crowley remarks before driving at a more reasonable speed than usual down the road.

Aziraphale’s grabbed onto his seat when Crowley accelerates, noticing a moment later that he’s not going obscenely fast today—it’s still dangerous, the aggressive way he drives, but it adds to his cheerful mood. “Yes, yesterday just wasn’t the best time.”

Crowley frowns a little— he only wanted to pleasantly surprise Aziraphale with his appearance, but perhaps he should have called. He parks next to a strip of rather expensive stores, mostly clothing, and gets out. Aziraphale opens his door and steps out onto the sidewalk, looking around curiously.

“So, um... a robbery?” the angel guesses.

Crowley nods. “Bit basic, but it’s pretty easy to coerce people into here and I thought it a fitting start.” He watches the sidewalk for a second before seeming to choose his victim—a working class businessman who seems quite tired, just passing through, when Crowley stops him. The man stops, looking up at Crowley with a somewhat exasperated sigh.

“What is it, sir?” the man asks dully.

Aziraphale watches the interaction from a small distance, figuring he’ll get his turn.

“I saw you and I couldn’t help thinking: you must be on lunch break during a trying day at work, passing these shops. The thing is...” Crowley lowers his voice a bit and continues persuasively, “one thing from any of these places could pay your salary, at least for this month. Don’t you think it’s a little insane, that the owner of whatever you work for can probably buy here frivolously, while you actually do the work?”

The man’s eyebrows furrow, and he frowns, clenching his fist. “Yeah... I have to do so much just to take care of my family, while they can throw their money around?” He looks into the window of the shop, setting his jaw and going to stride into the store.

Crowley steps back with a wide gesture for Aziraphale to take his turn, though he does follow the man, curious as to exactly what he’ll do.

Aziraphale smiles and nods before hurrying after the man, going up to him as he makes to rifle through the most expensive coats. The angel sets a hand on the man’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Excuse me, hello. Couldn’t help but hear that you’re a bit upset—”

The man turns to him, and Aziraphale takes his hand back, pinching his fingers together in front of himself instead as he continues, “and, well _I_ think you’re already doing a very good job of caring for your family. But um,” he gestures to the clothing, “if you were to do something, not quite virtuous, don’t you think that would _hurt_ , more than help them?”

Crowley listens nearby while looking at anything black or close enough, seeming genuinely interested in the clothing though he’s really just keeping himself from intervening.

Aziraphale continues to convince the man that his family matters more than the money, taking a few notes out of his pocket to give to the man on his way back out, advising him to get his wife something nice. He waves the man off as he leaves the store, a cheerful smile on his face.

Crowley, looking at a rack nearby, comments, “you know, I thought about trying a red or so to switch it up, but it always seems like a bit much, a ginger demon in all red and black. What do you think?”

Aziraphale turns, smiling at Crowley in a more affectionate way as he walks over to see what he’s looking through. “Well, you could be more subtle with a reddish undershirt,” he looks through and finds a dark red button-up, looking back at Crowley and decidedly putting it back. “Or, you could go for a different, tie thing... and well, hair color is becoming a bit of a fashion trend lately, if it’s really not working for you.” He glances at Crowley’s auburn hair, phrasing his final suggestion as if it’s a last resort.

“Hm... well, I can fuss over clothing on my own time. There’s people to damn.” Crowley turns to leave, pausing to add, “then save,” with a little wink before heading out.

Aziraphale didn’t really mind the brief distraction, giving a bit of a halfhearted chuckle. “Right then, back to work. Where to next, chuckaboo?”

 _“Chuck-a-boo?_ ” Crowley asks incredulously, though Aziraphale’s outdated little terms always amuse him a bit.

Aziraphahle doesn’t respond, this being an exchange they’ve had before. He asks as if it didn’t happen, “to the car? Or perhaps we’ll go somewhere more local.” He looks around once they’re out on the street as if searching for any more opportunities to do good.

“You’re quite eager! Well, I might have gone to a pub if it wasn’t so early. Be that as it may, I can still start a fight...” he seems to contemplate doing something more elaborate before just pushing a man into another, trying to pick the sort that seem eagerly angered but it’s a passive attempt and he’ll try harder if it doesn’t work.

Azzy’s eyes widen as the two men accuse each other and start to get angry, panicking a little and whipping up a miracle—they stop fighting and realize that they find each other quite attractive, apologizing, one sheepishly offering to exchange numbers while joking about their chance encounter. Aziraphale clears his throat and walks over to Crowley, nudging him along past the scene. “Can we avoid physical altercations, please?”

Normally Crowley would make a comment about how he’s a _demon_ and all, but Aziraphale’s haste makes him pause. “Alright... can do.”

The angel sighs. “Thank you.” He brushes off his coat and continues walking next to Crowley, putting the encounter behind him.

Crowley stops walking, shaking his head. “No, hold up, sorry. I can’t just ignore it. I made two guys fight and you made them exchange numbers? Isn’t that supposed to be sin too, or did I miss a revision...?”

Aziraphale stops too, giving Crowley a patient smile. “Love, Crowley, is never a sin.” He pauses, glancing aside, “well, probably. That’s what I think, anyway.” The angel then turns to keep walking.

That makes Crowley pause; _never?_ But he shakes himself out of it and smiles a little. “Well, I won’t tell Hell, then.” He follows Aziraphale as he gets back on a demonic train of thought.

Aziraphale looks thoughtful at the comment as they walk along, decidedly voicing his confusion once Crowley doesn’t explain. “What does Hell have to do with it, though..?”

“I’m sure there are demons who didn’t get the memo and are spreading a bit of love themselves,” he answers with amusement, “after all, the humans killed each other over it for _ages_.”

It is a bit amusing to picture demons encouraging gay relationships through thinking they’re sinful, and he gives a small chuckle, clarifying quickly, “yes, they did kill each other; not funny, quite tragic, really.”

“Yes, of course... though if love is no sin, how is lust such a big one?” Crowley asks, just enjoying the conversation at this point—he can spread damnation wherever, they have all afternoon.

It is a rather pleasant day, and just being on a walk with a friend is nice. “Well, that’s because lust can cause humans to do awful things to each other. Like—like rape, and, all sorts of horrible things.” Aziraphale keeps his eyes set ahead.

Crowley pouts a little. “Whell-, of course _that’s_ bad, but lust in and of itself doesn’t cause all that. That’s a lack of self-control, really, don’t you think?”

“Lust is a,” he clears his throat briefly, “a very base human instinct, which implies a lack of love or kindness in it. I suppose it’s simply easier to just use one word for it that humans will understand...”

“I’ve seen very loving acts of lust before,” he comments, “and even when it’s not out of love, it can be out of understanding for some humans. They are designed to feel the need, after all. I’m not saying it can’t be something evil, just that it seems like it oughtn’t be so black and white.”

Aziraphale just nods after a moment of thought, clearing his throat. “Right, how about we go here?” He gestures to a small pub/eatery on their left with a decent number of patrons.

“To cause mayhem or get a bite to eat?” Crowley asks, turning to head to the little place—he hardly ever eats, really, but Aziraphale seems to enjoy it.

“I thought we had agreed on dinner later,” he responds, following Crowley in with a contented smile.

“Yes, but you could’ve gotten peckish between then and now,” he points out with a shrug, looking between people, decidedly sitting in a booth seat right behind a kid of around ten whose folks are only there to dine.

Aziraphale heads over and sits down across from Crowley, as that’s the only thing that feels natural, folding his hands in his lap as a waitress comes over and asks what they’ll be having today; Aziraphale pauses. “Um, well... how about some tea, then?” he smiles and nods to her as she turns to leave.

“When I was a kid,” Crowley starts, head turned to the wall so he knows the girl can hear him but he’s not seen as a shady grown man talking in low tones to a child. “And I got to go out to eat, I insisted I was starving so I’d have to get all the delicious options available. No parent wants a hungry kid, after all, and it was like Christmas with all of everything I wanted. I demanded it until I got it, and it was always more than worth it. That’s the sort of thing you have to do while you’re still a kid; it was great fun...”

“Crowley, what nonsense are you—oh,” Aziraphale realizes what he’s doing mid-sentence, quieting down again and letting the demon continue.

The child takes a moment to catch on, but when she does she starts wailing to her parents about how hungry she is, just as the waitress returns with two cups of tea to set in front of Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Crowley responds as he turns back to Aziraphale and takes a sip of tea, seeming irritated himself over the child’s whining.

The angel looks between his tea and the child—it would be strange to walk over and talk to the child directly, though if he responded from where he was sitting perhaps the child wouldn’t hear his counterargument over her own whining—he decidedly slides out of his seat and moves to Crowley’s side, gesturing for him to scoot over.

Crowley easily makes room for the angel to slide in next to him, fully understanding the reason but still gaining just a little smile.

Aziraphale sits down and glances over his shoulder, responding as if continuing a conversation with Crowley. “That’s a bit unkind, isn’t it? I think you’re a lot more likely to get something you want by asking nicely rather than making your parents upset, and it feels a lot better to get something because you earned it.”

The girl might’ve heard Aziraphale, but her parents decide they’re just going to leave and get something at home instead, likely fed up with her whining.

Crowley takes a long sip of his drink, confessing afterward, “always feel a little bad doing that to kids. She’ll be alright though, she’ll just get a stern talking-to most likely…”

“Yes...” he agrees a bit sadly, getting up again to sit back across from Crowley and picking up his teacup to drink some, adding some sugar afterwards. “What do you say we do one more of these, then take a bit of a walk before dinner?”

“Alright; anywhere in particular we should take a walk?” the demon asks conversationally, figuring they’re not wasting the tea despite not having planned to buy it in the first place.

Aziraphale glances out the window, a sort of wistful smile on his face as he sips his tea. “Oh I don’t know; it’s just a lovely day. A walk in the park might be nice,” he watches the humans walk by, bringing the cup back to his lips.

Crowley watches Aziraphale, absently drinking his own tea. “A walk in the park then dinner... it _is_ quite a nice day; we could go somewhere with tables outside, really enjoy it.”

“Oh, that would be lovely.” He glances back at Crowley just before glancing down into his cup of tea almost bashfully, setting it down in the saucer. “So, how was Paris? Other than, you know. What happened.”

“Oh, it was nice... look, about the Notre Dame... ah, I shouldn’t say this, should I?” He pensively downs the rest of his tea. “The humans haven’t found them quite yet, the fire’s too recent... but a handful of historical pieces that were a bit easier to save may have... miraculously survived, along with the towers and stained glass.”

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows a bit with a slight smile. “My, how kind—” he cuts himself off, picking his tea back up, “well, thoughtful of you.” He drinks some to avoid meeting Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley tenses like an animal getting ready to strike when Aziraphale starts, but ‘thoughtful’ seems acceptable to him and he looks out the window instead. “Don’t mention it.”

Aziraphale goes quiet after that, slowly finishing his tea and looking out the window.

Crowley patiently waits for his angelic friend to finish his tea, thinking about his next act of unkindness in the meantime.

Aziraphale sets his cup down and the waitress comes by a little later asking if they want anything more, and Aziraphale politely declines, going to pay for the teas.

“Alright, let me at least pay tip,” Crowley comments, handing over a pound note—which is a substantial tip when the cost was significantly under ten pounds.

Aziraphale takes the pound with a small nod, not commenting on the gratuitous amount Crowley’s given and just adding it to the payment. He slides out of the booth carefully and takes a pleasant deep breath, walking over to open the door of the establishment for Crowley on their way out.

Crowley gets up and walks out ahead of Aziraphale, thoughtfully commenting, “not sure if this one will listen to me; suppose it’s time to do this the old-fashioned way.” He sets a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder as he starts to change over, in no mood to slither across London concrete though he is considerate enough to limit his size to six feet or so as he changes to his serpentine form.

“C-Crowley, what are you doing??” Aziraphale demands in a hushed voice, stepping away from the door of the pub as someone else goes to head inside, not wanting to disturb anyone with a snake sitting around his shoulders. “I don’t see why this is necessary,” he comments with his gaze following people in the crowd, standing against the nearest wall (not touching it, as it might ruin his coat) not knowing where to go.

“Maybe it’s not strictly necessary; but it _is_ fun. Look, just let me onto the sign for that little shop across the street, I’ll be smaller.” He gestures to the shop; there’s a homeless man sitting near the sign who is probably Crowley’s intended target.

Aziraphale takes a breath and nods resolutely, trying not to think about the fact that Crowley’s quite close to him right now, waiting for when the street is clear to cross the road to the shop.

The demon moves so he’s hung over Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders like a necklace, resting there and musing to himself that it’s a bit like a hug, though of course he doesn’t say so.

Crowley’s slithering around him makes a shiver go up Aziraphale’s spine, trying to act like this all is normal though he doesn’t think this particular thing has ever happened before. He stands next to the shop’s sign as if he’s reading it, close enough for Crowley to reach it. “Go on, then,” he murmurs under his breath.

Crowley unravels from Aziraphale to coil around the metal holding the sign out, his head hanging down to go still and murmur to the man by the sign. “You can’t possibly make a living wage from pan-handling like this... going out every day, calling to people... it’d be much easier to do nothing, and more profitable to pick-pocket, and the end result doesn’t change. There’s not enough money, and nothing you can really do about it, why do anything?” he feels a bit bad, again, but Aziraphale should make it better so he’s not really doing so much bad.

Aziraphale takes a bag out from behind his back, filled with a small amount of food, clothes, and other living essentials, approaching the man. “Good afternoon, sir; here, I know things look a bit bleak,” he hands the bag over, “but there are always people willing to help; if the nights get too cold, the church down the road sets up mattresses every night, you can go there.”

The man is a bit overwhelmed between Crowley’s demotivation and Aziraphale’s gift, just saying, “thank you, God bless you,” to which Aziraphale looks particularly flattered.

Crowley smiles as much as a snake can smile, going back to bipedal on the other side of the sign and stretching a little. “To the car?”

Aziraphale walks over to Crowley’s side, still thinking about how he was curled around his shoulders a minute ago, sounding the tiniest bit distracted. “Alright then.”

Crowley just fixes his clothes, brushing himself off before heading in the direction of his car. Aziraphale follows after, hands folded in front of him while he looks at his feet more often than in front of him, apologizing when he nearly cuts off another pedestrian.

“…Are you alright? You seem a bit out of it,” Crowley asks after a bit of this, looking over at Aziraphale and seeming genuinely concerned.

“Hm? Me? Oh I’m fine,” he waves a hand dismissively, “which park should we go to? The usual?”

“Right... sure, the usual’s fine.” He shakes it off, hopping into the car once they get there.

Aziraphale opens the passenger side and sits down, commenting, “you really ought to consider putting in seatbelts, Crowley, especially at the speeds you go.” He’s brought this up before, a decade or so ago.

“Oh, that’s no fun!” he responds playfully, “besides, I won’t _crash_ , I’ve done this for centuries!” He revvs the Bentley up to get going, though the action’s not at all necessary.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes just slightly. “You’ve really _never_ crashed this thing? Not even because of a human running into it?”

“Does it look like I’ve crashed it?” he asks— it’s true the Bentley doesn’t have a scratch but it could very well have been miracled back together multiple times for all Azi knows. Crowley pulls out of the spot to drive, recklessly but still not as bad as normal.

Aziraphale still holds onto his seat just in case, giving a look that says ‘well I don’t know, I asked you!’ but he doesn’t say it, leaving the topic there. He furrows his eyebrows and asks after a moment, “Crowley, what’s wrong? You’ve been driving considerably less recklessly today.”

“Well I’m not really in a rush; nothing I have to get to at any specific time...” he bluffs, actually watching the road for once, though it’s more to avoid the angel’s gaze than keep them from crashing.

“That never stopped you before,” he comments knowingly, recalling the countless times he's been in Crowley's car when they're just going somewhere and he's yeeting around everything.

“Would you rather I pushed the gas pedal all the way and took my hand off the wheel?” Crowley asks in exasperation, speeding up a little as if to give the threat some weight.

“No! Of course not,” he exclaims, gripping his chair as he watches the road with widened eyes.

“Alright then.” Crowley answers a bit gruffly, not slowing back down but still not flooring it down the city street.

Aziraphale doesn’t ask again, trying to look out the window as he thinks that something really must be wrong—Crowley wouldn’t be getting testy with him otherwise. Maybe he’ll ask at dinner..?

It’s not long before the demon parks by the park and gets out of the car, clearly short-fused at the least. Azirphale opens his door and steps out of the car, closing it behind him, though it’s hard to enjoy the park when Crowley’s so obviously upset. He decidedly speaks up, apologetic.

“I, didn’t mean to pry, Crowley...”

Crowley sighs, seeming to soften a little as he starts away from the car. “It’s fine, Aziraphale... I’ve just, been thinking. I fear I’ve been terribly-... well, good, to put it plainly.”

The angel frowns a little as they walk, about to ask what’s so bad about that before he remembers he’s talking to a demon. “Well... you’ve done a handful of bad things today, anyway. Did it help at all...?”

“I did bad things so you could do good things, I don’t think that quite counts. It’s not right, a demon’s not meant to have friends, really at all. I just worry over them finding out.”

He’s about to protest Crowley calling them friends, but he decides it’s not the best time. “It’s been 6000 years, why would they find out now?” he speaks softly, just so the two of them can hear.

“We’re in the age of cameras now, Angel, there’s bound to be solid evidence.” Crowley answers, looking around as if to spot the surveillance. Aziraphale looks around too, at the occasional lamp post where surveillance cameras could be mounted, thinking about how often they’ve frequented this park and starting to get truly worried.

“W-well, cameras have been around for a while now, why haven’t they spotted us yet?”

“Because they never check, what they don’t know doesn’t hurt them, and my lot can be completely daft with machines. My point stands, the pictures are certainly there, probably video as well, if they ever bother to look.”

Aziraphale is getting quite anxious now, his voice despairing. “Crowley, what do you suggest we do? It’s not like we can change what’s already happened.” He’s watching everyone else in the park as if checking to see if they’re other angels.

Crowley seems to properly realize he’s making Aziraphale a bit paranoid. “Well, _you_ could just describe me like an experiment or hobby: ‘oh, I’m trying to see if there’s a way to turn a demon good again.’ You haven’t done anything evil lately, so you should be fine.”

“Why can’t you say you’re trying to corrupt an angel, then?” he frowns, still looking jumpy, vaguely distraught. “I-I could get in serious trouble for even, even _talking_ to you, intentions be damned.”

“Any chance you didn’t know I was a demon?” Crowley asks, obviously just asking if they’d buy it. “I mean, we do both pass, physically, as human most of the time.”

Aziraphale sighs. “Everyone knows you’re a demon; even if they didn’t, they would probably guess it.” He walks over to a nearby empty park bench, needing to sit and think about things.

“Well, yeah, I suppose I’m a little Well-known...” he sits next to Aziraphale like he usually does. “Well... we could always, wipe the tapes. It’s the sort of large-scale nuisance I’m known for, really, I might be able to rig something...”

“All of them?” the angel looks at Crowley with his eyebrows raised. “How would we know where they’re stored? There could be all manner of evidence out there...”

“Alright, but the powers that be aren’t going to dig too deep; they probably won’t even look as long as they’re not suspicious,” Crowley points out. “So if we just make sure nowhere obvious has it...”

Aziraphale looks at the ground in front of him, nodding after a moment of thoughtful consideration. “Alright.” He wonders what might happen to them if they're caught, the awful scenarios he thinks of bringing a solid frown to his face.

Crowley reaches over instinctively when he sees the angel’s expression, stopping himself with a hand hovering by his shoulder.

“Aziraphale... what’s done is done. I’m–,” he speaks quickly to make himself finish, “I’m sorry I brought it up.” Crowley sets his hand in his own lap, looking away.

He glances over at Crowley, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “It's alright. I _did_ ask what was wrong.” He gives a soft, forgiving smile.

Crowley glances back at Aziraphale briefly, seeming to relax a little himself though he doesn’t say another word on it. “What sort of food were you thinking of for dinner?”

“Hm…” the angel gets a somewhat mischievous smile on his face. “Do you like sushi?”

Crowley cocks an eyebrow a little at Aziraphale. “Yeah, it’s alright. You know a place with tables outside?” he asks, considering what they had said before.

“Well, no, but that's alright,” he responds, honestly not as eager about the idea of sitting outside as he was before they started talking about being watched by surveillance cameras.

Crowley nods a little, leaning his head back and looking at the sky through his shades. “Chinese it is, then.” There would be nice days he didn’t fuck up, Crowley was sure, so he wasn’t going to let himself stress over it.

“It's not _Chinese_ , it's _sushi_ ,” he feels the need to point out, though he's still smiling. “It's Japanese, if anything.”

“Fine, _sushi,_ ” he mocks in a good-humored fashion, gaining a little smile at least.

Aziraphale’s nose scrunches up a bit with a wider, self-satisfied smile, looking almost as cheerful as he did when Crowley first came by this morning. Crowley smiles a little wider himself, asking, “Oh, and are you feeling any more _inspired?_ ”

“Hm?” the angel wasn't expecting the question, looking over at Crowley in vague surprise but quickly looking back in front of him. “Yes, thank you. It was helpful.”

Normally he might adamantly insist that Aziraphale not mention it, literally never, but he just nods to acknowledge him instead. After a moment Aziraphale decidedly starts telling Crowley about a few strange customers he encountered at the bookshop during the week or so he was gone, they were looking through old histories in a particularly dusty corner of the shop and kept telling him that the records in the book were totally and completely wrong, to which he simply told them, 'yes, I'm fairly certain the Roman Empire existed,' and suchlike... Crowley listens attentively, agreeing that that is quite peculiar— and a tad amusing, since Aziraphale and him were there.

“Did they ever say who they were?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale shakes his head. “They got angry with me and left, like it was somehow my fault,” he shrugs. “Very strange indeed...”

“Hm… probably just the confused sort, I wouldn’t pay them too much mind.”

“They just seemed so certain of themselves...” he looks up as a bit of wind gusts by, grey clouds having rolled in while they were talking. “It looks like it might rain...”

“Delirious sort, then,” he comments before nodding. “Want to start back to the Bentley? So we don’t have to rush, at least.”

He nods, getting up. “That might be best.” He waits for Crowley to get up too before he starts walking back to the Bentley. Crowley walks with the angel, trying to just enjoy it.

“Though it’s really just water we’d be stuck in.”

Aziraphale pouts slightly. “Cold too, bad on the coat…” he brushes a hand across his lapel as if to smooth it down, though it’s not so much as wrinkled.

Crowley nods in agreement. “Yes, but not all that harmful, in the end... don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fan of it myself.”

The angel closes his eyes briefly and takes a whiff of the air, the rain-coming-soon smell. “It's only really bad when you're stuck out in it.”

“And it is a bit necessary...” he adds, “I almost lost a fern to an incompetent plant-sitter while I was in Paris. The absolute twat overwatered it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he does sound genuinely sorry, knowing how particular Crowley is about his plants. “You could-...” he quickly reroutes himself, “do you usually have someone come take care of them for you?”

“If I’m out for a while I’ll hire someone who ought to know how to follow directions and handle plants,” he explains, “apparently this one thought they knew better than me, though.”

They’re nearing the edge of the park towards where the Bentley is parked as the first few drops of rain come through, and Aziraphale glances up at the sky. “I suppose it’s a good thing we didn’t decide to eat outside.”

“Suppose so.” Crowley strides just a little faster to get to the car and hop inside, popping in an album by Queen so neither of them have to force continuous conversation, though he keeps it low for Aziraphale’s sake. “Have you ever actually seen my plants?”

Aziraphale slides into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him as the rain patters harder against the windshield. “I’ve never been to your flat, I don’t think. Not this one, anyway.”

“Whell, I’d invite you over but I don’t think you’d enjoy it. I don’t really do ‘cozy’,” he responds while starting up the car and pulling out.

“That’s alright, Crowley,” he responds in an understanding tone; he doesn’t particularly want to go over, who knows what trouble he could get into.

The demon just nods, knowing he’d likely be declined if he did offer and just listening to Queen as he speeds down the road in the rain.

Aziraphale listens as well, an attempt to take his mind off of imagining Crowley losing control of the vehicle on the slick road—the song changes over from “Don’t Stop Me Now” to “Somebody to Love”, and Azzy goes to turn it up just a bit, explaining softly with a glance at Crowley, “I like this one.” He settles back with a tiny smile.

Crowley smiles a bit in return, looking over at Aziraphale briefly but longer than he probably should while driving. “So... where am I driving?”

“Watch the road!” he insists, only having to gather his thoughts again before answering, “what about Zuma London? I don’t think we’ve been there together before, I could give you directions.”

Crowley rolls his eyes as he turns his focus ahead of them. “Alright, that works.” He slows down a bit so Aziraphale has time between intersections to tell him where to go. The angel takes them on a somewhat roundabout route to the restaurant, which is on an oddly shaped street corner, a coral brown tiling on the outside and a double-door entrance with an overhand to protect them from the rain. Crowley doesn’t mind the odd directions on the way, pulling up in front of it though there isn’t a parking spot where he stops.

“Go grab us a spot, I’ll go park.”

Aziraphale smiles warmly. “Will do.” He gets out and closes the passenger door, hurrying to the overhang though he can’t avoid getting a bit wet from the rain before he heads inside.

Crowley smiles as he pulls away to get a nearby spot, just trying not to get soaked before he gets into the place. Aziraphale is waiting for him by the reception desk along with a well-dressed attendant ready to take them to their seats once the demon gets inside. “Ah, there he is. Not too wet out there, I hope?” he looks him up and down, the majority of the rain soaked into his clothes seeming to evaporate instantaneously.

Crowley gives a huff of a chuckle and a smirk as he walks up to them. “Not at all, thank you.”

Aziraphale smiles in an almost indulgent way, turning to follow the waiter that leads them to a table for two that’s got a booth on one side and a stout armchair on the other. Aziraphale goes for the armchair, as he expects Crowley would rather spread himself out on the spacious booth. Crowley does exactly that, relaxing back on the seat though he does lean forward to look at the menu, passively appreciating the atmosphere of the place.

Aziraphale knows what he’s getting already, though he might give the menu a once-over anyway, asking for something non-alcoholic when the waiter takes their drink orders. Crowley gets the most heavily alcoholic option that he could legally drink throughout dinner, and Aziraphale gives a small sigh as the waiter walks off to get their drinks.

“You’d better be rid of that by the time we’re driving back.”

“I’ll sober up before we leave,” he concedes with a slight eye roll before continuing to look through the menu, though it’s not long before he decides on something to try— a special of the restaurant’s he hasn’t had before but sounds good enough.

The waiter returns with their drinks and asks if they’re ready to order; Aziraphale nods and asks for a sushi platter, with extra soy sauce just in case. After Crowley’s order and the menus have been taken, Aziraphale clears his throat.

“So... it’s been a while since I’ve seen you in your serpentine form,” he starts, “It must’ve been, what was it, 1890, when you hid in my top hat?”

Crowley laughs at the memory. “Must’ve been! I don’t do it often, but it can be convenient.” He takes a sip of his drink before recalling, “bit peculiar, top hats were; you could fit an awful lot in them.”

“Yes, I even fit a book into there once,” he recalls with an amused smile. “A pity they went out of style, eh?” He picks up his drink to take a taste of it.

Crowley looks to Aziraphale, not finding it at all difficult to imagine him with a book hidden in his hat and grinning. “I would think it’d hurt your head eventually— the book, not the hat.”

“Well, it was a small one, of course.” The angel shrugs, drinking more before setting his glass down.

Crowley nods a bit, drinking as well. “Well I didn’t think you fit a _dictionary_ up there. It was a little stuffy for that.”

Aziraphale’s not sure what Crowley’s implications are, not paying it much mind. “You sort of forget about it being there after a while.”

A few minutes later their food arrives and Aziraphale takes a table napkin to set on his lap, thanking the server formally in Japanese. “My, this looks delicious,” he comments appreciatively at the elegantly presented platters.

Crowley takes his chopsticks, not really caring how the food looks beyond the fact that it seems to have made Azzy happy. He takes a nom (I’d say bite but you don’t bite into sushi) and hums his appreciation, the reaction just bordering inappropriate. Aziraphale doesn’t really mind that much, going quiet to enjoy the sushi which he dips generously into the soy sauce, commenting after he’s had a few, “Perfect, as always.” He takes a drink, smiling over at Crowley.

Crowley points to his own dish with the chopsticks, agreeing with his mouth full, “that’s, fantastic.” He drinks between bites.

“It’s impolite to speak with your mouth full, dear,” he comments patiently, going to eat another sushi roll.

Crowley just stops for a moment and looks at Aziraphale, who both just called him impolite and ‘dear,’ not even sure what to say for a second. “... I’m a fucking demon.”

Halfway through his mouthful of sushi Aziraphale’s caught off guard and brings his hand up to his mouth, looking at Crowley with disapproving eyes as he finishes chewing, swallowing and recollecting himself. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“‘It’s impolite’? Really?” he points out, a little ticked off but not because of Azzy reminding him of his manners, but because of how very negatively the angel reacted, to the simple fact which he already knows, as if he wanted to pretend otherwise...

“What? It is.” He defends himself, oblivious to the real reason Crowley’s upset though he pauses with his meal for now.

The demon quaffs his drink and lets it hit him so he can try not to think too much before eating more sushi, pointedly not saying more though the action is borderline childish. Aziraphale only has a couple rolls left, decidedly getting back to eating as well—he's been thinking since their conversation in the park, he wants to bring something up to Crowley but it never seems like the right time... Crowley seems to calm down as he eats more and finishes his drink, though he doesn’t try to strike up conversation for fear of sounding hurt.

When Aziraphale finishes his food and takes a small drink before bringing his napkin up to pat his mouth, he sighs lightly through his nose. “Crowley, I...” he steels himself before continuing, “I think we should, well...” He realizes he can’t say it, there’s no way to without sounding hurtful and he doesn’t want to either, murmuring somewhat defeatedly, “never mind.”

“What is it, angel?” Crowley asks, looking up from his plate at Aziraphale, very glad the other can’t see his eyes, because he has the horrible feeling he might have an idea of what he was trying to say.

Aziraphale resolves to try again to put it into words, looking slightly upward as he thinks. “I... I think it would be best—safest, for both of us... if we didn’t meet so openly.” He looks back at Crowley hesitantly, dreading the reaction he might get.

“... right.” Crowley responds flatly, eating the last piece of sushi and taking a properly long time on it— there’s no such thing as a private space, not private from heaven and hell, not really. And he _knows_ Aziraphale wouldn’t give a damn, if only he wasn’t damned. “... still need a ride home, or is that too _dangerous_ for you?” he forces it into sounding like spite, with a good deal of effort.

His expression seems to fall apart a little, his voice small. “Crowley, I’m worried about _you_ too,” he tries to explain, “I, can’t have you getting in trouble because of me... what if they killed you?”

Crowley sighs deeply, solemnly leveling with Aziraphale. “And since when did having a friend make you a traitor? I thought that wasn’t _ever_ supposed to be a sin. We do what we’re supposed to, _why_ does it _matter?_ ” He doesn’t realize that it was love Azzy said was never sin, buzzed as he is.

Aziraphale sits back, lowering his gaze; he really doesn’t have an answer for that. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head a little. “I don’t know...”

Crowley starts to go off a bit, the unfairness of it all getting to him— as far as he’s aware, Aziraphale doesn’t want him around, because it’s dangerous, because he’s a demon. “Did I tell you how I ended up in Hell, Aziraphale? I had the wrong friends, and I asked questions. Which of those is a sin? I did office pranks, inconvenienced some people, does that make me worthy, of _burning alive?”_

The angel looks up, surprised. “No! This, it’s got nothing to do with that, Crowley—” _what_ does _it have to do with, then?_ He asks himself, answering aloud. “it’s because of, our respective offices. I don’t hold anything against you personally...” he seems saddened that Crowley would think that.

“Nothing except the one thing I can’t control. Scorch marks and black wings. That’s the reason you’re asking I leave you be, that’s the _curse word_ that I shouldn’t remind you of, and that’s what I am,” he responds bitterly, because that’s also what’s keeping him from his best (and really only) friend.

Aziraphale’s dumbstruck for a moment, shoulders slumping forward out of his usual straight-backed posture, and he blinks moisture from his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is just barely audible. “I don’t care that you’re a demon.” He looks away. “Please don’t say things like that...”

The angel carefully gets up, walking to the front desk to pay for their meal and head to the door.

Crowley closes his eyes and sobers up, and he doesn’t believe the angel, because of how often Aziraphale refused to even call them friends in the past and because it’s still the reason he doesn’t want to be seen with him. He stands and deliberately starts on his way to the door without looking at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale walks out, taking an umbrella out of nowhere and opening it under the overhang before walking out into the rain, forcing himself not to look back as he heads closer to a main road to look for a cab.

Crowley heads out, and just for a second when he’s certain he won’t be seen, Crowley looks to Aziraphale. Then shakes his head and walks to the Bentley, not caring how much the rain soaks him down to his skin, and he drives at 100 all the way to his flat, ‘Somebody to love’ blasting through the radio as the last song that was on and he doesn’t change it, crying and cursing nothing in particular in the ‘safety’ of his Bentley.

Aziraphale waits by the roadside for an available cab, hearing the revving of the Bentley’s engine and listening to the sound fade, wiping what must be a drip of rain from his cheek. On the drive back he can’t help thinking about things even more—the situation is impossible; if they continue meeting, they risk being caught, and if they stop, they’d both be miserable... but he knows deep down that he won’t be able to stay away for very long.


	2. Visit

Once Crowley returns his flat it’s the plants that pay for how unstable he is. He meticulously inspects every square inch to distract himself and severely punishes any plant that doesn’t pass inspection— except his poor fern, which he dotes over to the same extreme. Inspecting the now-diminished collection of houseplants doesn’t take nearly long enough and TV seems quite rubbish; he sits in his throne both feeling he’s done nothing wrong and that he’s the most guilty man alive, trying to sort through his thoughts.

Once Azzy gets back to the bookshop, he paces, quite a lot. By the time it’s turned fully dark he calms down a bit, sitting at his desk near the window, repeatedly considering calling Crowley and deciding against it, eventually deciding he’d better wait until tomorrow. At precisely 12:06 am, Aziraphale decides he can’t wait any longer and he picks up the phone—this being after at least an hour of deliberation, trying to decide what to say and a bit more pacing. He dials Crowley’s phone number and fiddles with the cord nervously as he waits for the demon to pick up.

Crowley looks up at his vintage phone and lets it go to voicemail, as always, ready to pick up if he has anything he can say— his thoughts have reached quite a dire conclusion, the only conclusion one can make when losing one person in particular quite suddenly sounds unbearable: he really does care, about Aziraphale. In what way he’s not sure, because he’s a dumbass, but he’s at the least his closest friend.

The angel answers after Crowley’s usual message, trying to keep his voice steady, “look, I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply,” he then realizes someone other than Crowley might be listening on the other end. “What I did, it’s just... well, the other day, just before you came by, head office came. To my bookshop, to collect my report, to... check up.” He sighs shakily. “That’s just, never happened before, and I... well, it gave me a fright, I suppose.”

Crowley swallows to steady his voice, picking up the phone. “It’s me... I... well, to start, I’m sorry I blew up on you. I never, really, cared that I’m, what I am.” He opens up with great difficulty, “except, when you’ve refused to hang out, or listen to me for it... I understand that’s not what you meant this time around, now, but it’s still the problem. I know you don’t blame me for it, but they still do.”

Aziraphale’s surprised that Crowley is telling him this—the demon is very rarely open with him at all. “Crowley...” It hurts a little to hear how upset his friend is, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

The demon felt he had to explain it, or Aziraphale wouldn’t understand his frustration with it all, but now he hasn’t a clue what to do. “... I’ll go around tomorrow— today, rather— and clear the tapes...”

“Right...” Aziraphale lets the silence fall between them again, trying feebly to end the call on a positive note. “May we meet again soon.” He hesitantly takes the phone from his ear and sets it back in its holster.

Crowley closes his eyes and sighs through his nose, hanging up. The park, and the police department, he’ll focus there... a bit of missing footage is only relevant in the case of a crime, so nothing bad should come of what he’s planning... maybe his serpentine form would be less conspicuous when approaching Aziraphale; there are snakes in London. Not many, but snakes... After some thought, he eventually formulates a plan that should work well enough despite other intrusive thoughts. He heads to the park’s main building to manipulate his way to security and wipe any stored memory at times they were there and even times he’s not sure about, just to be sure. He intends to do the same to the police, heading from the park to the police station after he finishes. On the way, he works on what he’ll say to Aziraphale… he’d inevitably start by telling him he wiped the tapes, but then what? He needs a gentle but not soft way to say he won’t just stop hanging around Azzy because some pompous prick with a post up their ass might get mad…

Crowley does the same job but more carefully with the police, which takes a little longer and is pretty difficult with his mind constantly going back to Aziraphale. Once that was done, Crowley found himself parking his car at his flat and slithering all the way to the bookshop, so there’s no way he’s putting Aziraphale in danger—only to find that he’s apparently overwhelmed Aziraphale worse than he thought. The note posted on the front door of the bookshop tells him that the angel has gone away on a trip for a few days, maybe the afternoon. He curses and bites the note on Aziraphale’s door, figuring the distinct two holes of a snake bite is explicit enough, and heads back home. He’s still a snake, but more aggravated with himself now—he shouldn’t have said a thing; it was stupid and reckless of him.

Aziraphale is gone for two days. Over the course of that time, Crowley gets absolutely wasted and calls a snake charmer to ask them to make him feel good about himself. He promptly cusses them out for not doing their job when the charmer says he has the wrong number; he then watches TV until he passes out, and remains asleep.

* * *

Aziraphale decides a few hours after the call that he ought to take a trip out of London for a little while. Perhaps a few days, hunting for new books to add to his shop-collection. He’ll leave a note on the shop door, in case any angels or demons come over to check on him, so things with Crowley and heaven have a chance to cool down a bit. He can’t get in trouble for going on a trip... perhaps he’ll bring something back for Crowley. As he gets ready to go, he realizes Crowley might feel like he’s running away from him—is he? It doesn’t feel like he is, he’s just... getting away from it all. He supposes that does include Crowley, and he’s thinking about the phone call as he slings a small bag over his shoulder and locks he door of the bookshop with the notice that he’ll be gone for two days, perhaps three, or the bookshop might be open tomorrow afternoon if he’s back by then. He briefly considers putting a note somewhere only Crowley would find it, perhaps on the Bentley, but the demon’s probably out driving it right now, and long-distance miracles can be tricky. He hails a taxi and it takes him out of London as he sits thinking.

Aziraphale blissfully manages to take his mind off things, especially after he gets onto the aboveground train, and into the suburbs of London. He takes out a book from his bag, which is almost entirely full of books, reading snippets between admiring the scenery. He’s heading to the city of Oxford—not bothering with finding a place to stay as he intends to spend most of his time diligently Book-hunting. He’s in and out of various shops and individual sellers’ homes for about a day and a half, stopping only to get some lunch on the second day, though it makes him think of Crowley again. Afterwards, he finds himself looking through a garden shop, and he’s on his way back that evening with a satisfying haul of six new books, two of them signed first editions.

Aziraphale settles back in once he returns to the bookshop, taking the note off of the door and passively setting it on the nearest table. He puts away his new books lovingly, taking a small ceramic flower pot out of his bag before he double-checks Crowley’s approximate address through the routing of his phone number with some angel mojo. At about 7 pm, having asked at the front desk which flat was A. J. Crowley’s, there’s a knock at the demon’s door.

Crowley groans but gets up, bedraggled in his button-up shirt that’s hardly buttoned and jeans, not even wearing his glasses as he goes to swing the door open.

“What do you wa—” he freezes, blinking a few times as if he thinks he’s hallucinating, eyes going a bit wide as he realizes he’s fully awake and as sane as he gets. “Aziraphale...”

The angel looks down at the small cactus plant in his hands so he doesn’t have to meet Crowley’s gaze, offering it to him. “Hello; just had a pop over to Oxford, thought I’d get you something in return... shouldn’t need watering too often, eh?” He looks up at Crowley with a tentative smile.

Crowley takes the little cactus like one might take a professionally blown glass sculpture, looking between it and Azzy. “Thank you... I erased the tapes... um, come on in! Or don’t, of course, if you want.” He’s such a mess it makes himself blush. “How was Oxford?”

Aziraphale brings his hands back a little awkwardly once Crowley has a hold of it. “Oh it was nice, not quite so crowded as London. I found some beautiful first-editions to add to the shop,” he adds eagerly, still uncertain about Crowley’s invitation to come in so he just avoids answering.

The demon seems genuinely excited for Aziraphale. “Great! That’s fantastic!” He pauses, chuckling nervously as he points out, “it’s a bit ‘impolite’ on both or our parts to just, stand in the doorway, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale swallows and blushes guiltily. “Yes, I suppose it is...” He hesitantly goes to walk inside, looking around the lounge area where most of the plants are. Crowley makes certain the TV and radio are off before giving the cactus its own spot on a windowsill, giving nearby plants a warning glare— if they grow to shade the little cactus out of its perfect little spot, he will kill them.

“It’s not much, really... have a seat if you like, I wouldn’t recommend turning on the TV... good demonic communication, TV is.”

Aziraphale walks in, looking at the bareish walls, hard floors, and leather sofa, understanding what Crowley meant when he said he didn’t do ‘cozy’.

“Do they, talk to you on there?” He gestures somewhat weakly to the TV.

“Sometimes; it’s perfectly safe, if it’s off. They assume I’m off working if I’m not on TV or radio,” he responds, though he does give the TV a nervous glance.

Aziraphale smiles a bit in relief. “Well, I suppose that’s alright, then.” He walks over to the couch, primly sitting down and resting his hands on his knees. “So... get up to any trouble while I was away?” he asks conversationally.

“Whell-...” he smirks with amusement, going to sit on the other end of the couch—one could almost pretend they’re back on the park bench. “If my slightly foggy memory serves me right, I did get blackout drunk and threaten to sue a snake charmer for not trying to seduce me.”

“You _what?”_ he asks incredulously, looking over at Crowley with his eyebrows raised and a look of slight amusement.

“My line. But yeah; hopefully they realized I was absolutely bolloxed!” he answers, trying to decide how to address the elephant in the room.

Aziraphale does realize, with an almost jarring flashback, that Crowley did say that in their very first meeting, so many centuries ago. His eyes go a bit distant as he remembers. In the moment of Azzy reminiscing, Crowley gets the courage and words together.

“I know it’s safer, but I don’t want to stop meeting with you... I do consider you, a good friend.”

Aziraphale is shaken out of his trance, blinking at Crowley and having no clue what to say, opening his mouth slightly as if that will inspire him to speak.

Crowley looks at the angel, also trying to will him to speak— he has opened up far more than was ever comfortable, and after almost two days he still has little idea of what Aziraphale thinks of it all. “For Hell’s sake; agree, disagree, be unsure, but do it _aloud_!”

The angel brings his arms closer to himself, as if trying to become smaller. “Crowley, what’s gotten into you? In, in all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen you quite like this...”

The demon tenses his jaw and swallows— because he cares, because losing him never felt so real, because he wants to be understood for once, because he thought Aziraphale was avoiding him but he just found and came to his flat... and with all these reasons, there’s not one he finds the ability to say, looking down at the plain flooring silently.

Aziraphale’s shoulders relax. “Well... at any rate, I suppose I feel similar, or else I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of coming here...” He sounds almost self-reflective as he speaks, looking down at his own shoes.

“... I could use my serpentine form more often; might be a little less obvious, especially if I’m particularly small...” he offers— there isn’t much they can do in the face of Heaven and Hell if they really are suspicious enough to put effort in, but they can avoid suspicion.

Aziraphale smiles softly up at Crowley. “Now that’s an idea... how small would you be going?” he asks, simply curious.

“I mean, however small I need to be.” He shrugs, looking to Aziraphale almost timidly, “I can’t travel too tiny, obviously.”

Imagining Crowley small enough to fit mostly in the palm of his hand makes him smile a bit wider. “You’ll have to take care to still look menacing enough,” he speaks teasingly.

Crowley chuckles, starting to relax a bit again, bantering, “hard to be menacing when you can’t frown.” He changes into the alternate form, since they’re talking about it, just small enough to fit comfortably on the couch cushion. “It’s literally the shape of the jaw, there is no frowning.”

“Plenty of humans are terrified of snakes anyway. I think it’s the teeth?” Aziraphale ponders, looking over at Crowley. “Or perhaps the lack of limbs disturbs them, especially when you can move so fast.”

Crowley was mostly messing around with the smiling thing, but he goes along with it. “Probably. Although,” he goes smaller, so straightened out he’d go from one side of the cushion to the other. “I do believe there’s a point where even someone with a phobia would only be vaguely discomforted.”

“Well, you know _I_ don't mind.” He knows Crowley's not a danger to him, but he doesn't say it, feeling that the demon might not appreciate the comment.

“Yeah, I’m just saying.” Crowley goes humanoid again, at his normal height and all as he shrugs— his shirt’s a bit better off now, as if he fixed it while he was a snake.

“So, if heaven asks, I suppose I’ll just tell them I have a pet snake now?” Aziraphale asks with a hint of amusement at how odd the story sounds.

He chuckles at the thought. “If you like; that is, if they notice. Does sound a bit better than any excuse we could’ve had before.”

“Hm…” Aziraphale looks over when Crowley’s not looking directly at him, admiring his bright reptilian eyes that he doesn’t get to see too often before averting his gaze again lest he’s caught. “Though what about your side?”

“My side won’t bother me for a while after Notre Dame, but I suppose I can try the ‘corrupting an angel’ approach if they do figure it out,” he answers almost flippantly—he does have his doomsday option, if he should ever need it.

He relaxes, like a sigh of relief seeming to permeate his entire being both mentally and physically—he’s finally convinced himself that meeting Crowley should be safe enough from now on, providing he doesn’t get another scare from head office. “Right on.”

Crowley smiles, relieved that he could at least reassure Aziraphale, and he sits in comfortable silence for a moment before seeming to think of something. “I do have one thing that doesn’t use radio or anything like that, that you might like...” he seems a little uncertain, not knowing if Azzy would rather leave now that they’ve cleared things up a bit.

“Music, you mean?” He looks over at Crowley—for some reason he expected to be shown around the flat when he came, but perhaps he’s spent too long around humans, adopting their sense of etiquette and all.

Crowley’s flat is pretty plain all the way through and he never has guests, but this is one thing he knows no one else has— he gets up and takes out, oddly enough, two CD players, explaining. “Alright, Hell’s pretty awful in every sense. That’s the point, torturing souls isn’t nice; however, the souls are very much human, except without the same intellectual boundaries. So, in between all the bad, they do what humans do— they sing, in the depths of Hell. But it’s not any song that was ever written...” He opens a drawer and takes out a CD— there’s just a name on it, seemingly just written on the case, and he puts it in the player— it’s a woman, singing beautifully and hopefully with no accompaniment— one would never guess she was a damned soul in Hell. Aziraphale sits forward slightly as Crowley explains, and he pales when the woman’s voice comes on, looking at the demon with a frown.

“Crowley, that’s... a bit morbid, don’t you think?”

The demon can’t help but look a bit shot down, trying to explain, “well, maybe,” he turns it off, “but, isn’t it also just a little bit beautiful? I mean, the torture in Hell is a fact, a part of existence, but it never takes this away from them! Sometimes they sing with people they knew, regardless of how far they are; they keep each other’s spirits up, in Hell.”

“Well, yes... humans are quite resilient...” he comments obligatorily, uncomfortable with the subject mostly because it reminds him that the goodness of a soul isn’t black and white.

Crowley sighs and puts it all away—he can’t help but be a bit bummed, honestly, but he shakes it off. “I suppose I tune out what Hell is more than most... do you want a drink, or something? I have tea and such, it’s not all alcohol.”

Aziraphale perks up at that. “Some tea would be lovely, thank you.”

“Any sort in particular?” he asks as he heads into the kitchen, hoping he at least has something close to what Aziraphale asks for.

“I don’t mind. Er, two sugars, if you have them,” he adds, not entirely certain Crowley does have sugar in his flat, knowing the demon.

“Sure!” He makes something he thinks is nice while still sticking with the sorts of tea that are safe to assume most people will like, using a little demonic magic so he doesn’t have to wait for it to boil—gah, teacups; he has to root around but he finds a single proper teacup amidst wine glasses and flasks and a few mugs. He just uses a mug for himself and pours the cup for Aziraphale, adding two sugars to the angel’s and a tasteful spike to his own before walking out and offering it to him.

Aziraphale’s somewhat concerned by the noises in the kitchen, thanking Crowley as he takes the cup of tea and asking after a moment. “Have you had guests over before...?” He takes a sip of the tea, hoping he didn’t sound rude.

“Well... unless you count when I’m checked up on on the screen... I don’t recall that I have,” he answers, sitting back on the couch and sipping from his mug.

Aziraphale pauses at that. “...I’m sorry for showing up so suddenly, then. Bit rude of me...” He looks down into his tea, privately enjoying it through careful sips.

“It’s fine;” he says a little faster than he might’ve liked. “I mean, I was a bit out of sorts— asleep, really, when you came but that doesn’t matter. I was probably asleep for a good while already anyways.”

Aziraphale smiles, but still feels kind of bad. “Perhaps it's a good thing I woke you, then? Wouldn't want you missing half the century again, eh?” he comments playfully. Crowley chuckles, looking up at the wall as if he’s reminiscing.

“That was a good nap, those years,” he says, giving an amused smirk before drinking.

Aziraphale pauses after taking a long, slow drink of his tea and looking around the room. “It really is a nice place you've got. Beautiful plants,” he adds pointedly.

Crowley smiles appreciatively at Aziraphale, knowing it’s likely not at all what the angel would go for. “... thank you. They can be quite difficult at times.” A tremor passes through the plant life and he shoots them a glare, at which point they stop. The way the comment is phrased confuses the angel a bit.

“Well, the trouble's surely worth it; they look lovely. How's the fern doing?” he says as he looks over at Crowley.

“Recovering well, thankfully.” Crowley points to the potted plant in front and to the right of them—a fern, sitting in the corner with a few other plants; it doesn’t look like anything is wrong with it, beyond a few little brown tips.   
“I think it’ll make it.”

“Glad to hear it.” The angel looks over at the fern, drinking the last sips of tea in his cup; left with nothing else to occupy himself, he carefully stands, not sure what to do with the cup just yet. “Well... I ought to get going, I suppose.”

Crowley gets up as well, seeing there’s nowhere to really set the cup and silently offering to take it. “Alright... I’ll, see you later?” he asks with a hopeful pout, forgetting his eyes make it clear how genuine the gesture is. Aziraphale hands Crowley the teacup, looking up into his eyes and glancing away again at the expression he finds there, folding his hands in front of himself.

“See you then... take care, Crowley.” He nods decidedly, smiling at his friend as he turns to see himself out.

Crowley nods, going to clean up what he did take out in the kitchen and down the rest of his own tea, it not occurring to him that he should see Aziraphale out— he thinks stupid things that make him want to bite off his own tongue, thoughts of ways he could make the space more comfortable for the angel, so he might really want to come by from time to time…


	3. Late Night

Aziraphale leaves and heads down to the first floor and out of the building, thinking the visit was pleasant enough—though the demon saying he considers him a good friend threw him off a little. He finds a ride home in the gathering darkness, looking out the window, lost in thought the whole time. Perhaps he’ll sleep when he gets home; never saw much point in it, but he figures something about it must be enjoyable if Crowley likes it so much. When Aziraphale gets back to his bookshop, he heads to his desk in the back room and takes off his coat, reverently setting it over the back of his chair. He settles into it, with the intention of sleeping, but he finds there’s still a book laid out that he was reading and he can’t help but find where he was on the page; next thing he knows, it’s nearly noon the following day. Oh well.

Aziraphale gladly makes a task out of binge-reading through his six new books, never bothering to flip over the bookstore sign from “closed” to “open”. He notices, when it’s again the dead of night, that it’s been awfully quiet today, but he doesn’t think about it too much; he also doesn’t want to go out in case Crowley decides to slither over to visit him while he’s not there.

Crowley, meanwhile, thinks he’ll leave the angel be, at least for tomorrow.... if he doesn’t get a call. Crowley heads to his office to research the precise needs of a small cactus plant, wanting to be absolutely certain the gift he was given is well cared for. It occurs to Crowley, as he finishes his research, that coming over was... reckless of Aziraphale. Going to a demon’s flat, when he was suspicious of being watched, when he shouldn’t even look Crowley’s way... and him coming over does mean a lot to Crowley, who was sure him being a demon meant that wouldn’t happen. He lectures his plants on guest etiquette, and privately assures the cactus that it’s beautiful and doesn’t have to worry. After caring for the plants and a good deal of restless thought, he gets properly dressed and heads out to see if there’s a movie in theaters worth watching.

After his day— during which he decidedly watches TV instead of paying to watch some trashy movie— he debates going to see Aziraphale, but thinks it’s probably too late at night for that to be decent... but he can’t sleep, so he decides he’ll start on his way. He leaves the building humanoid and starts on his way to Azzy’s store as a snake, his appearance that of a four-foot cobra except for his dark scales and vibrant yellow eyes. It should take him a bit to get there anyway. There’s hardly anyone on the sidewalks with how late it is, though of course cars still drive by on the road, it’s London. He can see a few lights on in Aziraphale’s shop when he gets there, despite the door saying it’s closed.

Crowley doesn’t knock, because it would be terribly odd for a snake to knock, and weirder still for a man to let it in. No, but he does slither in under the door through a large amount of size manipulation.

“... Aziraphale...? I know it’s late, but I thought that might just make me less suspicious...” He slithers further in, just a little.

There’s a thud from the back room as Aziraphale jumps in his seat so much he knocks the desk, the very last thing he expected being Crowley’s voice in his bookshop in what must be the early hours of the morning by now, without a warning knock to speak of. He gets up and goes to walk out of the backroom just to make sure he’s not misheard, a pair of spectacles still on his nose.

Crowley lets himself be a bit bigger as he stretches his ‘neck’ up to be easily seen. “Ah: sorry about that... I didn’t figure an ordinary snake would knock.” He realizes he also forgot to call with a bit of a wince. “If you’re doing sssomething, I’ll go...”

“N-no,” the angel protests, speaking softly as one feels the need to do when it’s so late, “it’s fine.” He pauses, blinking at Crowley for just a moment before quickly stepping aside and gesturing into the back room. “Er, want to come back?”

Crowley nods, bringing his head back down so he can slither across the floor, matching Aziraphale’s tone and seeming reassured enough. “Sure.”

Aziraphale pulls a chair out from the table in his back room for Crowley—there’s still a wine bottle left out from almost three days ago when he had a glass, a 1933 Pinot Noir that’s mostly full. “Um, would you like something?” he realizes Crowley’s a snake, suddenly unsure, “well, if you can, as a snake... do your tastes change in a different form...?”

The demon slithers up around the chair’s leg and onto the seat, ‘sitting’ as well as he can with his body coiled on the seat and head up. “No, but it does make things a bit...” he sways side to side in a motion similar to one tilting their head to decide how to explain something, “well, I can’t chew, everything else is pretty much normal.”

Aziraphale decidedly goes to get a couple glasses to fill partially with wine; Crowley always likes a good drink. He sets the glass on the table closest to the demon’s chair, pulling out one for himself and sitting down somewhat opposite Crowley.

“How was, the trip over?” he asks lamely, taking a drink from his glass as he realizes there wouldn’t be traffic for a snake.

Crowley looks at the glass for a second, trying to figure out what to do in order to drink it before decidedly slithering partially onto the table, answering, “pretty calm— rather nice, actually; the traffic was low, so I didn’t get hit...” He arches his head down into the cup, seeming to just touch the surface of the wine with his nose.

“Don’t tell me you were traveling on the road,” he asks worriedly, having an odd image of Crowley as a snake driving the Bentley somehow in his mind.

Crowley lifts his head a little to answer. “No, but I had to cross it, and I’m still dark and moving across the ground at night.”

“Oh.” He nods a little; that makes sense. After a quiet moment he comments, “it was quiet today, nobody came into the shop...”

“That’s a bit odd; no one?” he boops the wine again, appreciating the taste. “I would think even after a few days out someone would come by...”

Aziraphale thinks about it, going back in his memory to the time he came back from Crowley's flat. “Well, now that you mention it... I may have forgotten to turn the sign over in the morning.”

“Hm... at least it’s not quite so mysterious, then,” he speaks, and one might imagine he’d shrug if he had shoulders.

The angel takes another drink, looking off distantly. “I'd leave the shop closed more often, if only that didn't raise suspicion... you know, so I don't have to keep chasing customers away from my particularly good ones.”

“Anyone in particular causing trouble?” he asks in a tone that suggests he’s ready to do something about it if there is.

“Oh, no, I just sometimes get customers who... actually want to buy things,” he admits, setting his glass down on the table.

Crowley chuckles at that, though he knows Aziraphale really does have quite the collection. “You know you could make it a library, right? Then no one would be buying the books, just, reading them.”

He shrugs. “Things work just as well like this; besides, I wouldn't want them getting lost...” he pouts a little, thoughtfully.

Crowley nods a little. “I guess that makes sense...” He’s starting to make a proper dent in the amount of wine he has; it takes him significantly longer as a snake.

“There are a few regulars, of course, who understand how it works. Take a look around, say hi, read a bit, some ask me for advice now and then... it’s quite nice, really.”

“That’s good!” his tongue flicks out briefly, seemingly in happiness, before he continues more thoughtfully, “... I haven’t had a job in a decade or two... I mean, besides the whole demon thing.”

“Oh, thinking of getting one?” Aziraphale asks in curiosity, reaching for his wineglass again. “Good way to keep occupied.”

“Maybe...” he doesn’t seem too partial to the idea. “The criminal world would welcome me with open arms if I came back, but I’ve done all that... I could go around damning people like I’m meant to, but that’s always bland and a little vain. And Satan forbid I get an honest job, that’d make things better...”

He listens with an understanding nod, but Crowley's last comment confuses him. “...better? What do you mean?”

“All regular jobs work in some way towards making human life better. Getting one would be good, so I can’t do it.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows at that, taking a sip of wine as if that'll help him think. “I don't think all jobs are good... what about politics? Oh! Prosecution Attorneys. Or, was it defense? They've both done oodles of bad things...”

“Hm... lawyers, I’d need to know the law; a lot of reading, lawyers do, the boring sort... Politics, though? I could get a following...” he ponders it.

Aziraphale frowns as he thinks of it. “On second thought, perhaps that’s not the best idea.”

“Perhaps not; public figure isn’t really my thing... what if I just, did similar without showing my face?” he offers as if it’s perfectly obvious. “Then I could say whatever I want.”

“How would you do that?” he digs into his vague understanding of modern technology, adding helpfully, “some kind of, ‘tweet’?”

Crowley snorts, and the jerking motion that comes with it gets wine up his nose and he splutters a bit. “Yes, maybe, but I was thinking bigger; more of an internet presence.”

Aziraphale sits up slightly in concern, pouting. “Are you okay? Wine up the nose, nasty business...”

“I’m fine,” he assures Aziraphale, though his ‘hood’ has come out instinctively in physical distress.

The angel notices, taking another drink himself and looking a bit glum; it’s obviously a bit of a hassle for Crowley to be a snake this whole time, and the demon’s just doing it because Aziraphale’s paranoid. Crowley notices the angel’s distress and lifts his head out of the glass to turn it upside-down in his best rendition of a frown. “... ssomething bothering you?”

Aziraphale’s not sure what Crowley’s trying to do, just interpreting it as an extreme confused head-tilt. “It’s just... isn’t it inconvenient for you, being in that form?”

Crowley thinks on how to answer for a moment, righting himself to his original position. “A little, yeah, but I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m stuck in it, and it makes this safer.”

“Yeah...” he agrees, his eyes lingering on Crowley a little longer than they normally do. “...as long as you don’t mind too much.”

“Not at all! Crowley leans down to drink more, his hood retracting back. “It doesn’t feel so cumbersome as you might think.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Oh, that’s good. It’s just, unfamiliar, I suppose.” The angel checks a clock on the wall, which says it’s 4:10 am, though that old thing’s always run about 42 minutes fast. He runs the math in his head, used to doing it by now. 

Crowley follows Aziraphale’s gaze to the clock, speaking apologetically. “Oh; it’ssss later than I thought...”

“Well, that clock tends to be nearly an hour late, anyway...” he adds, knowing Crowley’s still visiting much later than normal; it almost helps to pretend it’s just the clock.

“That’sss sstill a bit obnoxsioussss of me...” the distressed demon points out, getting frustrated with his own nervous hissing— Aziraphale’s always so consistently courteous, he really does feel bad for not showing him the same.

The angel gives a small endeared pout at Crowley’s hissing, somehow aware that it means he’s upset. “If we’re trying to avoid being noticed, coming over under the cover of night seems better than other options...” he tries to console his friend, slurring his words just the slightest.

Crowley pauses, as if very carefully choosing his words. “... I could’ve called.” He’s a little less upset now, despite seeming set on the idea that he was unnecessarily impolite.

Aziraphale nods, considering this while observing the walls, managing not to speak his mind on the matter as his gaze travels back to his glass. He considers it for a moment before bringing it up and drinking the rest of his wine.

Crowley is managing to run low as well, commenting, “I don’t think many diners allow snakes...” it’s almost as if you can hear him pout as he drinks more.

The comment hits Aziraphale a bit suddenly, worry clearly crossing his face. “Um, well...” he looks down at his empty glass, “you don’t have to be a snake all the time, right?”

“Well...” he hesitates, but continues with what he’s thinking, “that’sss up to what you’re comfortable with, I ssuppose. I mean, in a dire situation I could hide as a ring or something.”

“...why a ring?” he asks in particular, that being the first thought to come to mind. “Why not, a, a handkerchief, or, a fork...”

“I don’t naturally change into inanimate objects, Angel. However…”

Crowley slithers a little further onto the table, shrinking to be absolutely tiny— one or two inches— and curls into a perfect little ring. Aziraphale sets his glass aside, leaning forward and adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Fancy that… odd ring, though.” After a moment, the angel offers his hand, not clear exactly for what.

“There are some unique rings out there...” Crowley climbs up onto and around Aziraphale’s nearest finger, not really thinking the action over.

Aziraphale smiles warmly. “Itsnt that brilliant?” he speaks softly, turning his hand over to marvel at the tiny snake on his finger, careful not to bring his nearby fingers too close so he doesn’t get squished or uncomfortable or anything like that. Crowley contracts around Azzy’s finger a bit as the angel looks him over.

“I’ll, take that asss a compliment,” he says.

“You’re, very tiny,” Aziraphale comments as if he just realized this—though he sort of did just realize it’s still Crowley in his serpentine form, curled around his finger, despite being as small as a ring.

“You do know we’re both capable of subatomic sizes,” Crowley points out, relaxing and flicking his tongue, honestly finding Azzy rather comfy…

“Yes, but—did you smell me?” he asks somewhat incredulously in response to the tongue-flicker, completely forgetting what he was saying before.

“What-? Oh, I suppose I technically did, yeah. It’s like, breathing through your nose, it doesn’t mean anything,” he lies; the demon was really quite content and taking it in, like a deep sigh when you really relax for the first time in a while.

“Ah.” He accepts this, gently setting his ringed hand on the table with his fingers slightly curled so Crowley’s not pressed against it. “This was for emergencies, you said?”

“I said ‘dire situations,’ but we were talking about diners, so whatever suits us, I guess...” he responds without moving from Aziraphale’s finger.

“Mm...” Aziraphale nods gravely, his thumb subconsciously tucking under his hand to gently feel across Crowley’s scales. He blushes and tenses once he realizes what he did. “O-oh, I’m sorry, just... unconsciously did that... forgot you weren’t a ring.”

Crowley tenses as well, a bit flustered as Aziraphale’s finger essentially trails down half of his body— they don’t usually do so much as set a hand on the other’s shoulder. “It’sssssss-” he shakes his head, slithering off of the finger as if that’ll help him think. “It’ss fine, angel.”

Aziraphale brings his hand back down into his lap once Crowley’s not on his finger anymore, not sure what to do next, being drunk at this hour with Crowley as a snake. It’s all rather surreal for him at this point. Crowley gets back to his chair, growing to a more average snake size again, head in the glass, his mind wandering as he drinks. He speaks aloud as if on accident.

“Coming to my flat was risky...”

“Hm?” the comment brings him out of a distant trance, looking at Crowley guiltily. “Er, coming to your flat?” He smiles, nervously. “It, wasn't any riskier than when you've come to my bookshop...”

“But it was,” he points out, not feeling the need to explain why; it’s the private flat of a demon where using much of anything could show Hell their little scandal. Aziraphale’s bookshop is public and not so scrutinized.

“But...” Aziraphale flounders, not knowing how to explain that he wasn't even thinking about how risky it was. “...I had something to deliver,” he protests halfheartedly.

Crowley’s expression seems to soften and he nods, letting the angel have what is clearly his excuse. “Right... it will be well taken care of. Fits nicely on that windowsill.”

Aziraphale relaxes his shoulders, smiling just a bit. “Oh, good. You like it?”

“Of course! It’s a pleasant little addition...” and really, Crowley muses to himself, the only thing he’ll keep if it grows imperfect.

Aziraphale nods and looks at the floor, really feeling the conversation start to drag by now. It doesn't help that he has just the slightest trouble keeping focused on one topic or another with the alcohol in his system. A silence falls between the two of them.

“... Whell; suppose I should get going....” Crowley comments as he finishes his wine, pondering why he came... he just had to, it was impulsive.

Aziraphale nods again, looking up at Crowley with a smile. “Alright, mind the traffic on the way back,” he warns kindly.

Crowley nods, slithering down off the chair. “I might walk the second half... with legs, I mean.”

“'Still good to be careful,” he responds, standing up with a hand on the table to briefly steady himself.

Crowley starts towards the door once he’s down, answering in a somewhat sly tone, “no promises.”

The angel’s smile wavers a bit in concern, standing in the doorway of his back room to see Crowley off with a polite wave. The demon seems to wave back with the end of his tail before leaving how he came and heading back home.

After Crowley's gone, Aziraphale looks back at the table they were sitting at and feels a little lost. He cleans up the wineglasses absentmindedly and puts them away in his kitchenette along with the bottle of wine.


End file.
